


being as in love with you as i am

by invaderssayni



Series: it's times like these [4]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions
Genre: (but no descriptions of naughty bits), (lots of kissing), Brief mentions of smoking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drayden is everyone's parental/grandparental figure, Kissing, M/M, Now With More Overused Tropes!, mentions of nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 11:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8400532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invaderssayni/pseuds/invaderssayni
Summary: The calm (of sorts) before the storm.





	

“Heyyyyy, Granddad!” Iris chirps, bouncing into the house with a hesitant Cheren in tow. “You should’ve seen the battle we just had! But, hey, he’s on his way to the League Championship, right?”

“Uh, yes—“

“So of course he’d be good, but he doesn’t even have a dragon himself! Or an ice type! He beat us with a serperior!”

“Did he, now?”

An intimidatingly muscular old man with a truly spectacular beard comes into the living room wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. He stops in front of the pair and looks at Cheren with an inscrutable look on his face.

“What’s your name, young trainer?” 

“Um.” He takes a step backward. “Cheren? Uh, Yamaguchi. Sir.”

The man raises a single eyebrow and glances briefly toward the kitchen. “I see.” His beard twitches in what appears to be an amused grin — it’s hard to tell, his beard is quite thick — as he shakes hands with Cheren. “Drayden Shuman, gym leader and mayor of Opelucid, at your service. You will, of course, be staying for dinner.”

Cheren blinks. “I will?”

“You will,” Drayden confirms, leading the way back to the kitchen. “After all, not many trainers manage to beat either of us without a type advantage.” He raises his voice slightly. “Much less with a serperior.”

There’s a shattering sound from the kitchen, and a strained voice asks “What about a serperior?” 

Cheren peeks around Drayden (who seriously must have consumed nothing but protein in his life, the man’s a solid wall of muscle) and gives a small wave. “Hi, Alder.” Because of course, it is Alder who’s perched on a kitchen stool, looking down at the shards of broken glass on the floor as if he’s not quite sure how they got there.

A range of emotions flash rapidly across Alder’s face as he notices Cheren walk in. “I wasn’t expecting you, er, anyone, to arrive so soon, much less tear through Opelucid Gym on the first attempt. It’s usually a challenge even for top-level trainers.”

Cheren frowns. “I would have been here sooner if I hadn’t been detained on the way. I might not be on your level yet, but I’m certainly no pushover, _Champion_.” Surely, someday, people will have to stop underestimating him. It’s not his fault that he’s short and pretty and looks about as threatening as a Hello Skitty doll.

Alder raises his hands apologetically. “Wasn’t implying anything. Just, it was a surprise, seeing you here. Not that it’s a bad thing, that is, I…” He winces. “Someone shut me up.”

Drayden snorts, taking position at the stove. “You’ve been rambling at me for three hours; if you haven’t shut up by now, you’re not going to.”

Alder smiles pleasantly and responds with a rude hand gesture. 

“So, Alder tells me you’ve gotten caught up in this nonsense with Harmonia’s lot?” Drayden asks, prodding at something sizzling in a cast-iron skillet.

Cheren makes a noncommittal noise, still hovering in the doorway. “It’s certainly been… eventful.”

“So I hear,” he replies, with an amused glance over his shoulder at Alder.

Cheren raises an eyebrow.

“I, er…” Alder coughs and looks apologetically at Cheren. “May have mentioned you a few times in passing?”

Drayden barks out a laugh. “Mentioned him in passing? If that’s mentioning someone in passing, what do you consider discussing at length?”

“So, how about that rainstorm on route eight?” Alder says loudly. Cheren notices the man’s ears going red, and snickers. “Wasn’t the news talking about the roads getting washed out?”

“Oh, I heard about that!” Iris pipes up, looking up from her tablet. “One of my challengers came through there; isn’t it a little late in the year for Thundurus to be this active?”

“It wasn’t that bad. It was only washed out in a few places, and I just surfed over those.” Cheren shrugs at the incredulous looks that garners. “What? I had things to do. I wasn’t going to wait for the roads to dry up, it might have taken days; I don’t have that kind of time.”

“Yeah, but the water must have been freezing! It’s the middle of December!” Iris exclaims.

He frowns. “I guess? I didn’t really notice. It was already raining, after all.”

Drayden turns off the oven and leans on the counter. “Let me get this straight. You came all the way from Icirrus in the middle of a rainstorm, in December.” 

Cheren looks at the floor.

“Probably without an umbrella?” Drayden prods. “Or any sort of protection from the elements aside from that wool coat?”

What a fascinating tile pattern. Really, the stark white and black colour scheme is quite lovely. 

“Now you’re in for it,” Alder says, amused.

“Iris, would you please get some blankets from the warming cupboard?” Drayden says before turning back to Cheren. “Do you drink coffee or tea? Or hot chocolate? Do you have dry clothes to change into?”

“I’m… fine?” he says hesitantly, shooting a bemused glance at Alder. “Um. I’ll have coffee, I guess?”

“Good. Have Alder show you where the upstairs bathroom is; take a hot shower, change, and come back down for dinner. We don’t want you getting sick.” 

“Really, I’m—“ he cuts himself off when he sees Alder’s expression (you’re not gonna win this argument, it clearly says) and sighs. “Okay.”

“And you’re sleeping here,” Drayden adds. “I know how cold they keep Pokémon Centers.”

That, Cheren won’t object to. He’s coming to loathe sleeping in the Center rooms, especially now that the weather’s getting colder, and will take any excuse to avoid it.

Alder looks like he’s going to say something, but refrains, instead gently guiding him out of the kitchen with a hand on the small of his back. 

(Cheren mostly suppresses the shiver that runs up his spine, and sighs. Seriously? He’s wearing about five layers of clothing, why is he so damn sensitive?)

“Sorry about that,” Alder says in an undertone as they climb the stairs. “He does that to me all the time.”

Cheren huffs out a laugh. “What, act like my mother?”

He hums a vague agreement. “I probably deserve it, though.” He pauses. “But so do you, coming all this way in a storm like that! What the hell, sweetheart?”

Cheren practically glows at the way Alder’s voice softens on the endearment, mostly disregarding the lecture. “It wasn’t that bad, I’ve been out in worse,” he says defensively. “And anyway, I haven’t gotten sick in years.” Alder just looks at him. “I’ll be fine,” he hastens to reassure the man, who just shakes his head.

“You’re lucky it wasn’t cold enough to snow,” he says, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Arceus, you’re freezing. You don’t even have a fire pokémon to help keep you warm. What were you thinking?”

“Mmm.” Cheren buries his face in the man’s shirt. Alder’s so warm, and he smells like summertime and bonfires. “I have you. I hear skin-to-skin contact’s the most effective way to transfer body heat,” he murmurs.

This sends Alder into a coughing fit, and he takes two steps back. “Go shower,” he manages, pointing down the hallway.

“Don’t worry, your virtue is safe,” he teases, closing the gap between them. Standing on tiptoe, he whispers in the other man’s ear: “Unless you don’t want it to be?”

He leaves Alder spluttering in the hallway, finding the shower three doors down. And if he perhaps spends his first few minutes in the bathroom leaning against the door and giggling like an idiot, well, that’s no one’s business but his own.

 

From how concerned everyone was acting, Cheren was expecting to be fussed over a little when he got back downstairs. He wasn’t looking forward to it — really, he’s not a child, he can manage just fine on his own, thank you very much — but he knew it was coming.

What he was not expecting was to eventually (after far too much food) end up snuggled up on the couch with Alder (“He gives off more heat than a volcarona, you need to keep warm!”) under a mound of blankets (“You can take those up to the guest room with you, just in case.”), a large, half-empty mug of hazelnut coffee laying on a side table. There is a fire roaring in the fireplace. Reruns of some forgettable show are playing on the TV.

It’s all completely unnecessary.

(He is very warm, though, he’ll say that.)

“This is ridiculous,” he mutters to Alder. “Do they really do this to you?”

Alder makes a noncommittal noise. “The enforced cuddling is new.”

“I gather that’s more your fault than mine,” Cheren teases, nudging the other man’s leg. “How much of that rambling you were doing earlier was on the subject of me, exactly?”

“Alright, alright,” he concedes, “I may, possibly, have said a lot of very nice things about you in between all the ranting about Plasma.”

“You don’t say?” He rolls over, glancing up at Alder. Cheren can’t tell if the light flush in his face is because of how warm it is or because he’s embarrassed. “Do tell.”

Alder looks away, chuckling. Embarrassed, then; how adorable. “Drayden’s already dropping hints about wedding invitations. Never mind that I failed miserably at marriage the first time around.”

“It’s a little early for that, isn’t it? We only met a few months ago.”

“Don’t look at me,” Alder says with a slight shrug. “All I said was I like you a lot, that we kissed and, I dunno, I want to see where this goes.”

“Tell him he’s in the wedding party.”

A laugh. “He’s got a clerical license. He’ll want to perform the damn thing.”

“Mmm. Let him.” He nuzzles into Alder’s neck. “You’re getting scruffy.”

He sighs. “I’m aware.”

“Wasn’t complaining,” Cheren murmurs, “I like it.” He kisses the man’s jawline softly, getting a low throaty noise in response. He huffs out a laugh and continues kissing down his neck. He tentatively nips at the skin; Alder’s breath catches, and a hand finds Cheren’s waist under the blankets. 

“Apparently,” Alder says breathlessly. “Can I, come on, get back up here so I can kiss you.”

Cheren bites him gently again for good measure, but obliges, scooting up and straddling his waist properly. He rests his forehead on Alder’s, and whispers “Hi” with a grin.

“Hey, yourself,” he replies affectionately. He runs a hand through Cheren’s hair and pulls lightly, as if to test the waters. Cheren lets out a shuddering gasp and arches his back, fingernails digging into Alder’s shoulders. “Alright?” he asks, receiving a decisive nod in response. 

“Yeah, oh, that’s…” Cheren trails off, biting his lip as Alder pulls him down and kisses him deeply. Cheren lets him set the pace, slow and heated and positively delicious, and Arceus, he could do this for hours — 

A balled-up mound of paper bounces off the back of Cheren’s head — he hears it more than feels it — and he freezes, pulling back. “Wha…?”

“Take it upstairs, kids,” Drayden says from the doorway, holding most of a newspaper. “If it can’t be shown in a cartoon princess movie, it doesn’t belong in the living room.”

“Since when?” Alder frowns. “I thought the rule was PG-13.”

“Since my ten year old granddaughter moved in so she can take over the gym from me in a few years.”

Silence.

“ _Right_. Iris.” Alder says finally, running a hand through his hair. “Shit.”

Cheren winces. “Sorry?”

“Just remember to leave room for Arceus,” Drayden says in a mock-serious tone.

Alder rolls his eyes, reaching down under the coffee table and flinging the wadded-up newspaper ball back at him. It misses Drayden completely, sailing over his left shoulder and rolling into the hallway, resulting in two very unimpressed looks directed at Alder.

 

They do end up leaving the living room after that, though; Alder wanders off to go shower, while Cheren rinses out the coffee mug and flops onto the bed in the guest room with the pile of blankets. 

He regrets this immediately after seeing his bag leaning on the opposite wall; he’s not remotely inclined to consider getting back up to find his e-reader, no matter how much he might have wanted to finish that book he’s in the middle of.

Cheren sighs, reaching up to grab a pillow, and snuggles under the blankets instead. He wonders if he can coax Alder into more kissing when he comes back from the shower. Or touching. Or whatever else Alder will let him get away with, which is probably not a lot, if Cheren’s being honest. Alder seems perfectly happy with taking things relatively slowly, and maybe one or both of them have been known to let their hands wander a bit, but nowhere particularly scandalous as of yet. It’s not that he’s only interested in Alder physically — Alder’s a genuinely sweet and loyal person, and Cheren could listen to him talk for hours about pretty much anything; he’s not *suave* by any means but he’s so damn _charming_ , and that’s saying a lot for a man who wears ponchos unironically — but Cheren wouldn’t be opposed to taking things a bit farther, either. He wasn’t being entirely facetious when he was teasing Alder… 

His train of thought is interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and he makes a soft noise of complaint, glancing over his shoulder reflexively.

His mind stutters to a complete halt as Alder enters, closing the door behind him. The man is still dripping wet from the shower, with a towel loosely wrapped around his waist.

And nothing else.

Cheren can hardly breathe. 

He watches, wide-eyed, as water drips from his hair — which is loose, and that’s novel in itself; Cheren doesn’t think he’s ever seen Alder’s hair not at least partially tied back — and trickles slowly down his torso. He thinks vaguely that he could stare at him all day and not get bored: he’s reasonably muscular, but still somehow soft, with a dusting of coppery hair (and are those freckles? they *are*!) across his chest and trailing down past his navel and —

“Oh. Right.”

With great effort, Cheren manages to drag his eyes back up to Alder’s face. “Huh?” he says intelligently.

Alder laughs at that. “I’ll take that as a compliment?”

Cheren attempts to say something, but the strangled noises that actually come out of his mouth do not remotely resemble any human language.

“Sweetheart?” Alder asks, a mix of amusement and concern in his voice.

Cheren pauses, flustered. “Sorry, I just.” He exhales, attempting to get his brain and mouth to cooperate. “You are unfairly attractive.”

A beat. “You want me to go away and put some clothes on?”

“Arceus, no,” he blurts without thinking. He feels his face heat up once he realises what he said, and hurries to clarify: “I mean, don’t go out of your way on my account or anything.”

“I should probably at least put on some boxers if we’re going to be sharing the bed,” he says casually, glancing around for his stuff.

That just reminds Cheren that Alder’s not wearing _anything_ under that towel, and his gaze strays briefly downward. (He is mildly disappointed that this gets him less information than he already had from Icirrus.) He watches, transfixed, as the other man digs through a beat-up duffel bag; he’s absolutely fascinated by the way Alder’s muscles move, and idly entertains a brief fantasy of licking-sucking-biting down his torso until —

“Hey.” A pause. “Cheren?”

He blinks, looking up at Alder, who’s looming apologetically over him. “Mm?”

“Can I move you?”

Cheren belatedly realises that he’s sprawled out diagonally and taking up most of the bed. “Oh! Sorry, of course, I’ll just, uh…”

But Alder’s already scooted him over, stolen a blanket, and settled in next to him, which Cheren is kind of grateful for since apparently his brain takes extended vacations to Alola whenever Alder’s in a state of undress. 

“Alright?” 

Cheren rolls over and snuggles up to him. “Perfect.”

Alder makes a sort of pleased humming noise, and for a while neither of them really move, content to simply enjoy each other’s presence.

 

They must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next things Cheren are aware of are a stream of panicked, creative curses shouted at top volume, and being unceremoniously shoved across the bed. He squints around the room, trying to figure out what’s going on, but his glasses have migrated to the side table and the once-soft lights in the room are practically blinding him. Ugh. 

Cheren quickly ascertains that Alder has gone somewhere (without his pants, so presumably not far) in a considerable amount of distress, at — he gropes for his glasses and checks his Xtransceiver — three in the morning. He sighs and wraps himself in one of the blankets, following after him.

Eventually he finds the man standing out in the snow, smoking a cigarette, shaking, and swearing under his breath.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Cheren comments lightly, draping the blanket over his shoulders.

Alder jumps, looking around and grinning sheepishly at Cheren. “I don’t anymore, not really. These are Drayden’s,” he explains, waving the lit cigarette in his hand. “But lately… I dunno. It helps. The past few weeks have been…” He shakes his head, taking a drag. 

Cheren frowns. “That bad?”

“It’s…” Alder exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a lot, is all. But I can handle it. I don’t want you worried about me, I’ll be fine.”

“Uh huh,” Cheren says dubiously, giving him a pointed once-over. Alder ran out in a panic, in below-freezing weather, in his underwear, to smoke a stolen cigarette. Because he’s fine. _Right_.

The silence stretches out for a few moments, then Alder asks tentatively, “Can you at least pretend you believe me?”

He sighs, resigned. What else is he going to do, forbid him from acting as Champion? “Only on the understanding that after all this, you’re not doing anything more stressful than ordering takeout for at least a week.”

Alder drops the remains of the cigarette into a snowdrift and pulls him into a tight hug under the blanket. “Love you too.”

Cheren’s glad no one can see him grinning like an idiot right now. “Mm.” Then something occurs to him. “Oh, that reminds me, I wanted to ask you something.”

“You did?” 

“I did, but…” Cheren hesitates. “Well, it’s a little ridiculous. Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise,” he murmurs softly.

“Well…” He falters, then pulls away to look up at Alder. “See, when I was little, my grandmother gave me this… this charm, of sorts, and not that I necessarily believe in superstition, but it’s always been good luck for me, and…” He removes a necklace from around his neck and holds it out. “Well, frankly, I think you need it more than I do right now, so, will you wear it?”

Alder looks at him, and for a moment Cheren thinks he is going to laugh at him after all. “Yeah,” he says finally, taking the necklace. “Yeah, of course.” He grins. “I’d be honored.”

“I want that back eventually,” Cheren says as Alder slips the cord over his head. “It’s been in my family for ages.”

“Sure, sure,” he agrees easily, examining the carved pendant. “Is this a togepi?”

“Don’t ask me why, aside from them being associated with luck. It’s a family tradition, and…” Cheren bites his lip. “Never mind.”

“This family tradition wouldn’t have anything to do with that old proverb about sleeping togepis, would it?” Alder teases. 

Cheren’s face is carefully blank.

“Wait, is it really? Did I guess it?”

“Look, if you don’t want it — “

“Are you kidding? I’m not giving this back now, that’s the sweetest — “

“It’s three in the morning, I’m going back to bed,” Cheren says firmly, trying not to notice the way Alder’s looking at him like he might actually, legitimately, love him, and wasn’t just saying it as a figure of speech, because it is the middle of the night and he doesn’t think he can process that right now. His hand is on the doorknob when Alder calls after him.

“Hey, Cheren?”

He turns back around, and is met with a mouth covering his own. Cheren makes a surprised noise in his throat as he’s gently pushed against the door, lips and tongue and — oh — teeth quickly turning Cheren into a pile of goo. Normally he’d be aggressively returning the favour, but, well, it is three in the morning, and honestly — Cheren makes a pleased noise as he sags against the door frame, relying mainly on Alder to keep him on his feet — the fact that Alder initiated the kiss without any nudging from him makes him rather inclined to let the man do as he pleases.

A sharply cold touch trailing up his spine rapidly revises _that_ opinion, and Cheren smacks him on the forearm. “Alder, we’re outside!” he whispers in a mildly scandalised tone. “Someone could see us!”

“Like who?” he asks in between kisses, clearly amused. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Mm.” Alder is now nibbling on his earlobe, which Cheren finds supremely distracting. “It’s — oh, do that again — it’s snowing?”

“Another point in my favor,” Alder responds easily, not letting up at all.

“Yes, but…” He’s not necessarily opposed, it’s just that, well, “Alder, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s freezing out here.”

“Right.” He pauses, and looks down at Cheren. “Inside?”

“Yes,” Cheren says, punctuating with a kiss. “And I want a rain check on whatever you were just doing.” Kiss. “And don’t you dare leave before I wake up.”

“Bossy,” Alder says affectionately, opening the door. “I like it.”

“And I’m going to get hypothermia if you don’t hurry up, Alder, come on.” He huffs impatiently, tugging on the blanket.

“Doubting my ability to keep you warm?” Alder teases good-naturedly. 

“Maybe,” he replies casually, lowering his voice to a whisper now that they’re back inside. “I suppose I’ll just have to find someone else to do the job…” 

Alder snorts and picks him up in a bridal carry. “Sure you will, sweetheart.”

Cheren does _not_ squeak. He doesn’t. _Really_. (He may swoon a little, though. He is, after all, only human.)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not gonna lie, this one fought me a lot more than I was expecting it to. I had to rewrite three times and it ended up twice as long as I thought it was going to be, but I figured you guys would rather wait for a halfway decent instalment than get a mediocre update immediately, especially since I predict that part 5 is going to be a plot-heavy beast of a fic that you're probably not going to see until after this semester's over. (I've already outlined and started it. It's going to be fun!) Also, would any of you guys be interested in reading spinoff fics related to this 'verse? Because I've been dying to write my version of Alder's backstory, but whether or not it'll end up posted here is up to you guys.
> 
> So, notes!
> 
> 1) I actually did go in and take down the Opelucid gym with a serperior in the name of research. It's not as easy as going in with a speed-trained ice cream cone and wrecking face, but it's definitely doable, especially if you happen to have Dragon Tail with a boosting hold item; or patience, a ton of setup moves, and Leftovers.  
> 2) Yeah, Alder's ability to cope with stress is basically nonexistent even in canon. I'm taking artistic liberties from game canon in that he's trying to not take it out on everyone else here, but you can *definitely* tell he's not quite okay. It only gets worse in the next part, guys. I think you can guess why.  
> 3) Regarding the togepi charm: I wanted there to be something sort of reminiscent of that old trope where a dude's going off into battle and doesn't think he's coming back and his Love Interest gives him some sort of object and makes him promise to bring it back? So, what I came up with was this sort of family heirloom, and I wanted it to be linked to good luck. I picked togepi over chansey despite Cheren's family being from Kanto for both family backstory reasons and because I just plain like the togepi line. The proverb Alder refers to is mentioned in a few Pokédex entries: "A proverb claims that happiness will come to anyone who can make a sleeping Togepi stand up."


End file.
